Our Marshal Dillon
by Shellecah
Summary: In this turnaround story on the time-honored order, Dodge takes care of Matt when he's stricken with amnesia after being thrown from his horse.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

The musk of sage offset by the scent of sweetgrass and violets blooming in moist earth warmed by the sun enveloped the marshal like a fragrant coverlet, tempering his disappointment at losing the cattle rustlers. Matt turned his horse homeward to Dodge when the rustlers crossed the border. His jurisdiction ended at the Kansas line; he'd send a wire to the U.S. marshal in Oklahoma Territory.

The five-year-old horse plodded, head drooping. The grayish brown shade of cottonwood bark, she was eighteen hands high, large boned and muscled. Though she carried the marshal's weight easily, she galloped slowly, and Matt knew soon after leaving Dodge he had little chance of catching the thieves.

He stroked her damp coat under the overgrown mane. "Almost home," he said. "Your hair needs trimming." Matt figured Big Lady had seen hard days despite her youth. Buck would have tracked faster, but he was resting at Grimmick's livery after a hard chase to capture a robber known as the lone highwayman, now safely imprisoned at Lansing Pen.

Dodge bustled under the mild morning sun in preparation for the scorching days when no one could do much of anything. Dust drifted around the marshal as he rode, and he heard wagon wheels turning. Big Lady raised her head and pricked her ears as she walked onto Front Street. Already dry following yesterday's rain, the dirt was yet soft, pocked from stage, wagon, carriage and buggy wheels, and horses' hooves. The mare turned toward the livery, stretched out her neck and snuffled. Moss stood by the trough, pumping it full.

When Lady stepped in the hole too small for her thick right foreleg, the marshal felt the slight jolt and knew he and the mare were in trouble. She whinnied shrilly, flailing , and Matt was thrown off, his head hitting a rock. The mare pulled free from the hole and danced a few feet away, holding her leg off the ground. Matt lay unmoving, his head turned to the side on the rock.

Moss ran to the marshal, got down on his knees beside him, and lay his hand on Matt's back. Blood seeped from Matt's head, dripping over the rock into the dirt.

A wagon stopped next to them, and two ranch hands jumped down. "You know where Doc's is?" Moss said, his hand still on Matt's back. The cowboys nodded. "Can you fellas get him in the wagon, ride 'im over there?"

"Surely," said the bigger man. "Don't know 'bout the stairs, though."

Moss stood, squinting at the men on horseback and the foot traffic on Front Street. _"Here you, sir!,"_ he yelled, waving at a broad-shouldered young man in a fancy suit. _"Lend a hand, please!"_ The young man ran over to them.

"Can you go with this feller here, help put this man in the wagon and get 'im up the stairs to the doc's?," said Moss. "He's our marshal."

"Your _marshal_ ," the young fellow said. "I'll _be_."

"Hurry, hurry," said Moss, taking hold of the mare's bridle. "Know where the marshal's office is?" he said to the smaller ranch hand. The man nodded. "Fella what works for him should be there," said Moss. "Chester."

"Sure, sure," said the cowboy. "I seen 'im around."

"Tell 'im the marshal's bad hurt and he's to go to Doc's straightaway," Moss said.

"You got it." The cowboy pulled down his hat and ran.

"You take his feet there," the young man said. He rolled Matt onto his back and lifted his shoulders while the other cowboy picked up his legs.

"Careful," Moss said.

They laid Matt in the wagon bed, and the cowboy climbed to the seat with the young man beside him. "Go easy," said Moss. "Don't jostle 'im."

"I'll try," said the cowboy. "Road's rutted."

Chester was sitting in front of the marshal's office when the man ran up to him. "You're Chester," the cowpoke said.

"Last I heard," said Chester. "You're—"

"Marshal Dillon's bad hurt," the man blurted. "Ole Grimmick says you go to Doc's straightaway!"

Chester clutched the chair arms as he rose. "Good heavens," he said. "What . . . is he shot?"

"No. Horse stepped in a hole in front of the livery. He was throwed off. Hit his head on a rock."

"Oh my goodness," said Chester. He turned toward Doc's office, then hesitated. "Miss Kitty," he said.

"You go on," the cowpoke said. "I'll let her know."

"Thank . . . thank you."

"You got it."

People moving in both directions crowded the walk. Chester stepped into the dirt out of the way of the horses and wagons and hurried to Doc's, where two men carrying Matt between them neared the top of the stairs. Chester started climbing the stairs as one of the men hallooed through the door.

Doc opened the door, then swung it wide. "Put him on the table, over here," he said. "What happened?"

"Horse throwed 'im and he hit his head on a rock," the cowboy said. The men left, passing Chester coming in.

Doc lifted Matt's eyelids, listened to his heart, then turned his head to inspect the wound. The marshal's face was chalky gray.

"Is Mr. Dillon dead?" said Chester.

"No Chester, he's not dead. Hurt mighty bad, though. Gash goes through to the bone. I'll have to stitch it."

"Can I help?" said Chester.

The door opened and Kitty entered. "Good," said Doc. "I might need you both." Kitty moved to the table. "Don't touch his head," Doc said as her hand moved reflexively to Matt's hair. "He has a bad head wound."

"Was he shot?" said Kitty.

"Horse threw 'im," said Doc. "Split his scalp open on a rock."

"He was home," Chester said. "His horse stepped in a hole out front the livery."

Dodge knew by midday that Marshal Dillon was comatose, and Doc couldn't say when he'd awaken, if ever. Nourished by a rubber feeding tube, his face blank and colorless as the sheet he lay on, Matt lay motionless and silent, growing thinner.

Chester had never written a telegram to the U.S. Marshals Service in Washington DC. He asked Doc to write the missive, took it to the telegraph office, and six days later the telegrapher handed him a small sheet of notepaper. He held the paper unfolded as he hurried to Doc's, entered the office on the tips of his boots, and quietly closed the door.

Doc and Kitty sat in the room where the marshal lay in bed. "The wire come, Doc," Chester said in a near whisper. He waved the paper and haltingly read, "U.S. Marshal Nathaniel Jordan and daughter Miss Belinda Jordan arriving Dodge 3:30 p.m. train Thursday on day 19 June."

"Well," said Doc, "That's it, then. Dodge will have a new marshal."

Not responding to Chester's entrance or his news, Kitty gazed fixedly at Matt. "How long can he live like that," she said. "How do we know he's not suffering."

"He's not suffering," said Doc. "It'd show on his face if he was. As to how long he's got . . . I have no answer, Kitty. Days . . . or two, three months, maybe. He still has a chance if he wakes up . . . but will he be able to walk, talk, eat even? We just don't know."

Kitty sighed.

"Well . . . ." said Doc. "We both of us could use some lunch and fresh air, Kitty. We've been in here all morning."

"I'm not hungry," Kitty said.

"Well _I_ am," said Doc. "And . . . I need company to lunch. I'm too distressed to eat alone."

"Why, _Doc_." Kitty turned her gaze from Matt and looked with concern at Doc.

"Aw, Doc, you're not distressed at all," said Chester. "Don't you fret 'bout Doc, Miss Kitty. Doc knows he's never distressed." A shade of a smile crossed Kitty's face.

"I'm the only one in this town not allowed to have feelings, is that it?" said Doc. "I guess I know if I'm distressed or not."

"Now Doc," said Chester.

"You just stay here with Matt while Kitty and I get some lunch," said Doc. "We'll bring you something back."

"Alright." Chester took Kitty's chair close to the bedside, pulled a penny melodrama out of his pants pocket, and was deeply engrossed with the small book in front of his face when he heard Matt groan. Chester lowered his book. Matt groaned again and sucked at his dry lips, frowning. As Chester watched, the marshal made a choking noise, distorted his features, and abruptly pulled out his feeding tube. His eyes blinked open, focused and clear.

Chester slowly stood and moved his face into Matt's vision. "Mr. Dillon?" he said softly.

Matt swallowed, opened his mouth to say something, and started coughing. Chester filled a cup from the water pitcher, lifted Matt's head, and put the cup to his lips. Matt drank thirstily, draining the cup. "Thanks," he said.

"You can talk!" said Chester, smiling.

"Course I can talk." Matt smiled back at him. "Seems I should know you," the marshal said. "You look mighty familiar."

The words aroused no consternation in his partner. Mr. Dillon was awake and talking and drinking water, and Chester felt light as feather-down on the breeze. They could make their acquaintance over fresh if need be.

The marshal looked somehow much younger than before the accident, younger even than when Chester first met him. Matt's face appeared smoother, his features had softer curves and his eyes were more open and expressive. His hair tumbled in curly waves over the bandage.

"It's Chester," Chester said.

"Chester," said Matt, his brows furrowing. "Heard the name . . . . I can't place where I know you from."

Then his partner did something he'd never done before the accident, no matter how sick or injured or heartsore the marshal might be. "You rest easy," Chester said, and patted Matt's forehead. "We'll get to know each other again."

"The name's Matt," Matt said.

"Yessir. Matt Dillon."

Matt's frown deepened in confusion. "Why couldn't I remember it?" he said. "My last name. I can't remember anything."

"I heard tell of it happenin', Mr. Dillon," said Chester. "Folks what gets a bad head injury like you did, lose their remembrances for a spell. It'll come back to you though."

Matt touched his head and felt the bandage. "I hit my head?"

"Your horse stepped in a hole and threw you. You busted your head terrible on a rock. Doc had to sew you up."

The marshal looked intently at his partner, started to sit up, and grimaced, stiff in his bones and achy. Chester helped him sit. Chester's presence, his soft drawl and way of talking, had a soothing effect on Matt. "We good friends?" Matt asked.

"Yessir. We are."

"What's your last name, Chester?"

"Goode."

"Chester Goode," Matt said thoughtfully.

"Your head ache any, Mr. Dillon?"

"Just one spot hurts a little on the scalp. Must be where I hit the rock. The doc did a good job.

"We're such good friends, why don't you call me Matt?"

"You're a United States marshal," said Chester. "I work for you."

"A _marshal_." Matt laughed, loud and easy. Chester stared, then smiled. He'd never heard Matt laugh like that. "You gotta be mistakin' me for someone else, friend Goode. I can't imagine havin' to shoot— . I did though, in the war," Matt said, sobering. "I remember that."

The door to the office opened. "That'll be Doc and Miss Kitty," Chester said. He hurried into the front room and met them coming in. "Doc, he's awake!" Chester said. "Mr. Dillon's awake! He's settin' up talkin' and laughin', and drinkin' water!"

Kitty ran to the back room. Doc pushed a covered plate into Chester's hands and followed her.

 _"Matt!"_ Kitty said. She climbed on the bed on her knees and hugged him, pressing her face into his neck.

Matt returned her hug. He couldn't remember who she was, but he liked holding her.

Kitty took his face in her hands, looked into his eyes, and kissed him. He eagerly reciprocated. She was beautiful. Kitty sat back on her heels on the bed and studied his face. "You look different," she said. "Matt. You look so much younger."

"Are we married?" he asked, smiling.

She thought at first he was joking, then frowned at his questioning look. Kitty put a hand on either side of his head, gently rubbing his hair.

"You're so pretty," he said in a wondering tone.

"He don't remember us, Miss Kitty," said Chester around a mouthful of roast chicken.

"Do you know who I am, Matt?" said Doc. "Kitty." Doc motioned her off the bed.

"Chester says you're the doc," said Matt. "You did a good job on my head here; I feel fine. I'm powerful hungry , though."

"Oh Doc," said Kitty. "He doesn't remember. Oh, Matt."

"Your name's Kitty and you're mighty pretty," said Matt. "Pretty Kitty." She covered her mouth and made a mewling sound between laughter and tears. "It's alright, honey," said Matt. "I'm fine."

"Don't fret, Miss Kitty," said Chester, digging into the mashed potatoes on his plate. "He laughs and talks easy like that since he woke up."

"Here, let's take a look at you here," said Doc. He listened to Matt's heart and peered into his eyes. "You're sound enough," Doc said. "Too skinny, though. Where's your feeding tube? Chester, you weren't to remove that."

"I didn't, Doc. Honest."

"Is that what that thing was?" said Matt. "I was dreamin' a snake crawled into my belly and I pulled it loose."

"I'll bring you some stew," said Kitty.

"I'd rather have what Chester's eatin'."

"I'll fetch you some, Mr. Dillon," said Chester, wiping his mouth. "You don't need to give me any money for it, Doc. They'll fix it up for free when I tell 'em down to Delmonico's Mr. Dillon's awake."

Doc sat on the edge of the bed and regarded Matt seriously. "You're very lucky, Matt," he said. "You'll make a complete recovery physically, but you have amnesia. You'll have to relearn who you are, what you do, get reacquainted with the people you know."

"I presume you have another name besides Doc."

"My name's Galen Adams. This is Kitty Russell."

"Where is this place?"

"This is Dodge," said Doc.

"Uh-huh. Well, my friend Chester's mistaken about one thing. I know sure I'm no confounded United States marshal."

"No Matt," Doc said quietly, "Chester's right. You're our marshal. Here in Dodge."

"Well, Doc, if I was, I'm not anymore. I hate the thought of shooting and killing people. I had to in the war and it sticks with me. Those memories I wish I _could_ forget."

"You do whatever you want to, Matt," said Kitty. "It's your right. You quit bein' a lawman once and Chester talked you back into it. Don't let him do that again if it's not what you want."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

He saw no reason to greet the new marshal at the depot. Three days after awakening, Matt's memories of Dodge, its people, and his own past were hazy like blurred tintypes, undefined images as from a dream, eliciting only sensations with no story behind them.

Matt spent the days walking the town with Chester, meeting the townsfolk again, learning who he had been and who he was now. Chester kept up a steady chatter "to waken the remembrances," and his talk both entertained Matt and distracted him from elusive dark thoughts.

The town's persistence in calling him "Marshal" vexed Matt. He remained on the Service payroll; Doc had convinced him not to resign unless his memory returned. "I can certify you were afflicted with amnesia in the line of duty," said Doc, "and you show chronic symptomatology with mental instability. If your memories never come back, you can draw pay the rest of your life so long as a doctor signs off on the diagnosis."

Hours before the train was due bearing the new marshal, Matt lounged in a chair on Ma Smalley's porch while Chester stood over him, begging him to walk to the depot. Kitty had warned him not to let Chester talk him into resuming the job, so Matt turned a deaf ear to his friend's pleading, suspecting Chester lacked the confidence to meet the marshal on his own.

"You can do this," Matt said. "You're the one who'll work with him."

"I'm just an assistant," said Chester. "I . . . I'm not even a deputy. You're our marshal, Mr. Dillon. It's improper you don't make first greeting."

Matt straightened in his chair. "Kitty told me how we went through this some years back," he said. "She said I listened to you then. God only knows why, because I know I must've hated the job. I hate the thought of roughing people up and shooting and killing.

"You can be very persuasive, Chester," Matt said. "You got a way of touching a man's feelings. But my answer is no."

Times Mr. Dillon talked in that way of being at a distance from Chester made him figure ever harder on urging the marshal close as in past times. "I gotta go," said Chester a little breathlessly. "I gotta meet this new marshal and his daughter. But I'm gonna take out the time to keep re-learnin' you."

"Alright, Chester," said Matt. "I'll be around." He patted Chester's arm. "You'll do fine with the new marshal," Matt said. "You do a good job."

"There's not much to what I do," said Chester. "Jest wish I could keep doin' it for you."

The three-thirty train had arrived when Chester reached the depot. He had a nickel from the marshal's office till to pay the boy he'd hired to help carry the baggage.

Young Charlie ran up to him. "Thought you weren't comin', Chester," he said. "Where are they?"

"I dunno," said Chester. "I don't know how they look." The two stood together, scanning faces.

Chester felt a light touch on his arm and turned. A young, fine-looking lady stood behind them. He and Charlie took off their hats.

"I beg your pardon," she said. "Are you here to meet the new marshal?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Chester.

 _"Papa,"_ she called, _"they're over here!"_

A well-dressed man with a rich tan and silver-tinted iron-gray hair approached them. "This is Marshal Jordan," the woman said, taking his arm.

"Chester Goode," Chester said. He and the marshal shook hands.

"I go by Nate," said the marshal. "Belinda will introduce me in that stilted fashion."

"How else will he know you're the marshal," said Belinda.

"Me and Charlie here'll carry your bags," said Chester.

"I'll help," said Nate. "Belinda's trunk needs two pair of hands."

"I'd hoped to meet Marshal Dillon today," said Nate. "Is he still indisposed?"

"He does well," said Chester. "He recovered from the accident 'ceptin' his memories is still lost."

"So he wasn't able to meet us?" the marshal said.

Chester didn't know how to answer, as _"He don't want to meet you"_ and _"He's not a lawman no more,"_ would both bring shame on Mr. Dillon, who wasn't wearing his badge yet still drawing pay.

A sturdy leather handle attached to Belinda's trunk at either end, and Chester and Charlie carried it between them. They were soon sweating from the heat and exertion, and Chester wished he'd thought of a wagon.

"Something wrong, son?" said Nate.

"Sir?" said Charlie.

"Alright there, Charlie," said the marshal. "Chester? Marshal Dillon having some trouble?"

"No sir."

"Something you don't want to tell me?"

"Yes— I mean . . . . "

"Papa," said Belinda.

"Well, I'll meet Marshal Dillon soon enough, I suppose," said Nate. "It's not my business."

Chester thought he should say something to make the new marshal welcome, but nothing came to him. "Here's Dodge House," he panted. "Marshal's office is further down a ways."

They left Belinda to settle in and continued on to the office. "Will I meet the deputy there?" said Nate.

"No deputy," said Chester. "It's jest me."

"You do cleanup, errands and such as that?"

"Yes, sir. Anything you need me for. I can hit a target dead on more'n twenty paces with a good shotgun."

"That so," said Nate.

Chester opened the office door. "Got everything washed down clean ," he said. "I bunk here. Yonder's the jail through that door. I fixed coffee fresh if you want some."

"Thank you," the marshal said.

Chester poured two cups and sat at the table with Nate. They sipped their coffee awhile in silence, and Chester took the opportunity to scrutinize the new arrival. Marshal Jordan was a handsome man some seven inches shorter than Mr. Dillon and about two inches shorter than Chester, with intense dark-blue eyes, a strong upright form in the mid-range, and thick lustrous hair that showed no sign of receding. His face was smooth and unlined, and he dressed a lot finer than Matt.

"You're studying me, Chester," Nate said. "Do I pass your examination?"

"Yes, sir."

Nate looked at him and laughed. "You're an honest direct sort of fellow," the marshal said. "I like that. Tell me, how do I compare to your Marshal Dillon?"

"Can't say yet. You look a good man first impression."

"Yes, yes," said Nate. "You know where he is now? He won't come meet me, maybe I can go meet him."

"I'll take you," said Chester. "He rooms at Ma Smalley's boarding house."

Matt showed none of the reluctance he felt accepting the new marshal's invitation to dinner. He'd planned to eat with Kitty and talk over plans for a partnership in the Long Branch. When he asked her why they weren't married, she replied, "You won't ask me until you turn in the badge." Matt understood the reasoning of his forgotten self. He also knew that until he resigned, he'd be stranded at a way station between his lost past and tomorrow.

They were a party of four at Delmonico's—Matt, Chester, the new marshal and his daughter. Belinda Jordan looked like a young womanly version of her father, except for her wheat-colored hair, fairer complexion, and softer, more contemplative, less decided expression. She pressed Matt's hand between both of hers, and looked into his eyes longer than was usual for an introduction. Belinda was a fine woman with a pleasing face, though in Matt's opinion not beautiful like Kitty.

"You seemed to be avoiding me, Marshal," Nate said when they were seated. "D'you mind if I call you Matt, by the way? I answer to Nate myself."

"I prefer Matt," Matt said. "I wasn't avoiding you. No offense, I just didn't see why I should meet up with you. I'm resigning. Figured I'd milk the Service pay awhile, but my memory might never come back, at least not all the way. I don't want a lawman's cloud weighing on me all my life."

"You're quite right, Matt," said Belinda, nodding approval. "You've every right to take what you can to make your life comfortable exactly as you want it. The Service doesn't pay nearly enough anyway for what marshals have to do and the dangers they face."

"Really, Belinda," said her father. "You forget yourself. You're a schoolteacher, my dear."

"So I am," she said. "And I teach my pupils the free philosophies."

"Mr. Dillon's not himself since the amnesia come on," said Chester.

"I'm the self I want to be," Matt said. "I must've been one senseless fella before the accident."

"I don't see how you can say that, Mr. Dillon," Chester said.

"Perhaps because he means it," said Belinda. "Everyone has the right to be who they want and see themselves as they choose."

"Well," said Matt, smiling. "I have a friend in my corner."

"Belinda," said Marshal Jordan. "Matt, are you sure you want to leave the Service? What else would you do if you don't mind my asking? You don't look like a ranch hand or farmer, and you certainly don't seem the type of man to take orders from a storekeeper and tolerate customers' conceit and vagaries."

"I'm partnering with my lady friend for ownership in the Long Branch saloon here," said Matt.

"Gracious, Mr. Dillon," said Chester. "You didn't tell me nothing about that."

"You're a legend in the Marshal's Service, young as you are, Matt," Nate said. "I'm a temporary replacement; they called me out of retirement. I'll only be in Dodge until the doctor deems you mentally fit to return to duty."

"A lot of men can take my place," Matt said. "Please don't tell me I'm the only one can do the job. I'm tired of hearing that."

"Other men can do the job," said Nate. "But they can't fill your boots. You're the fastest gun in the U.S. Marshal's Service, and no other marshal has your presence. You're grown over the tallest of us by a good three inches. Dodge is no longer the town that has a dead man for breakfast every morning, and you're responsible for that. People actually walk the streets here feeling tolerably safe now."

"I don't know what I'm responsible for, Marshal . . . Nate," said Matt. "I don't remember, and I don't care. I'm wiring my resignation to Washington when the telegraph office opens tomorrow morning."

Nate sat back in his chair and thoughtfully regarded Matt. "Your telegram might take three days or more to reach the right office, and another three weeks to process your resignation. Until then, Matt, you're still a U.S. Marshal, and Chester and I will try our darndest to encourage you to remain so, won't we, Chester?"

"Yessir," said Chester. "We will."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"Hello, Kitty." Matt put his hands on the back of Kitty's chair, leaned around and kissed her as she sat drinking coffee in the Long Branch the next morning. The saloon was empty except for Sam arranging beer mugs behind the bar. Kitty touched her hand to his face as they kissed.

"I wired my resignation and posted the letter," he said, pulling out a chair.

"Oh, Matt." Kitty took his hand.

"There's just one thing," Matt said. "Doc had already sent a wire to the Service and followed it up with a letter certifying me mentally incapacitated so I could keep drawing my pay. Doc says unless he sends another letter stating I'm sound of mind, headquarters will disregard my telegram and resignation letter, and my pay will keep comin'. Nate Jordan'll be happy to hear it. Thirty years with the Service and he doesn't know they won't let a marshal who loses his wits resign whenever he wants to. These blasted bureaucracies are set up to confuse people so they'll own us body and soul. I can't get out no matter what I do."

"Why didn't Doc tell you before you took the trouble?" said Kitty.

"I let 'im know after, when I saw him to check me over. He said I have ab . . . ab-nor-ma-lities in my . . . affect. Whatever that means. And I still have amnesia. So he won't send the letter. He says it'd be negligent if he does.

"I don't know, Kitty." Matt slapped the table. "I'm having second thoughts about quitting. I'm starting to feel I should be in that office with Chester, that I should be running things instead of Nate. Wearing my badge. I feel like Dodge is my town and Nate's doin' my job."

"Matt," Kitty said. "I'm not gonna try to push you into a partnership with me. You need time to work this through on your own. Just make sure it's what _you_ want, what _you_ believe you should do."

Keenly aware of the weight of the gun against his leg, Matt let his hand stray to the butt. He knew he was deadly fast on the draw, and not because Nate had told him so. He had used the gun to protect Dodge. Matt felt a burning sensation in his midsection, like a craving, and he suddenly wanted his job back. He jumped up. "I'm ready to pin on my badge," he said.

"Matt," Kitty said. "You're sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything."

Kitty looked into his eyes and saw the change. His eyes looked somehow paler again, cooler, and the planes of his face were harder. He still looked younger than he had before the accident, though no longer boyish.

"Is your memory coming back?" Kitty asked faintly.

Matt frowned, concentrating. "Not exactly. I just know in my gut I'm a lawman and I belong in the marshal's office. That's my office. I'll see you, Kitty."

Kitty was bereft. Matt hadn't called her "honey" or kissed her when he left, as he had since coming out of the coma.

Chester was alone in the office, leaning against the wall and looking out the window.

"Chester," said Matt.

"Mr. Dillon. Your face done changed again."

"What?" said Matt.

"You looked younger when you first woke outta the coma," Chester said.

"Nate come in yet?" Matt said.

"No, sir. He and Miss Belinda are most probably breakfastin'."

"I'll wait for 'em here, then," said Matt. He moved to the desk, opened the top drawer, took out his badge and pinned it on. Chester smiled. Hands in his pockets, he stood smiling at Matt and saying nothing.

"I still don't remember much of anything," Matt said, "but I know I can do my job."

"We gonna tell Nate he can leave now?" said Chester.

"We can't. Headquarters listed me as mentally impaired. I have to get my memory back first."

"We'll find it for you, Mr. Dillon."

"You and who else," said Matt.

"Your friends. Doc and Miss Kitty. And . . . all of Dodge."

Marshal Jordan's daughter Belinda spent as much time as she could with Matt. Though he liked her and thought her nice-looking, he wanted Kitty. He thought Kitty the most beautiful, smartest woman in town, and never tired of hearing her talk or talking to her.

As Matt sat in Ma Smalley's parlor with Belinda on his right side and Ma on his left, Kitty filled his mind. Ma eagerly took part in the town's plan to restore Matt's memory, telling an unending stream of stories in which he had a role. Ma seemed a stranger to him when Chester introduced them. No one in Dodge had looked familiar to Matt except Chester, who was as someone Matt had met in passing an unknown time ago.

Matt was most comfortable at the marshal's office and at Ma's, and though her constant storytelling didn't bother him, his thoughts wandered, to Kitty more often than not. Belinda seemed captivated by Ma's stories, interrupting often with questions about what Matt said and did. He wearied of hearing about himself from everyone who talked to him.

Nate relegated himself deputy marshal, encouraging Matt to take over. He remembered his job duties, though Chester attached a tale to every task, always asking "D'you recollect _any_ of that, Mr. Dillon?" When Matt confessed he didn't, Chester would sigh and slump, then pull himself together to relate another incident from Matt's past.

"Why don't you take a break," Matt said. He and Chester were walking to Jonas' store. Chester habitually bought their supplies, but as Jonas was enthusiastic about retrieving Matt's memories, Chester persuaded the marshal to come with him to the store. "You're tiring yourself out," Matt said.

"Don't make no matter," said Chester. "We all have to do our part to make you marshal again official."

Jonas looked harried when they entered the store, and gave Matt a strained smile. "Marshal Matthew Dillon," he said. "You remember that's you, right?"

"He's _been_ knowin' that, Jonas," said Chester. He handed Jonas the paper with their supply list.

Jonas adjusted his spectacles and frowned at the list. "Some of these items are misspelled, Chester," he said. "Here, what's this here?"

"You look around, Mr. Dillon," said Chester. "See if anything brings on a recollection."

"Why would I remember anything here?" said Matt. "It's just a store."

"It's the store you always come to, Marshal," said Jonas. "Always. Isn't that right, Chester? For heaven sakes. How many misspellings do you have here?"

"That one's bullets," said Chester.

"The correct spelling is b-u-l-l-e-t," Jonas said. "You spelled it b-o-o-l-i-t."

"Oh." Chester nodded seriously, looking at the list in Jonas' hands. "What other one I misspelt?"

"This one."

Chester's brows knitted and he took the list. "Gracious, I can't read that myself."

"You really ought to be more careful, Chester," Jonas scolded.

"Matt." It was Belinda Jordan. "I saw you down the walk a ways," she said. "You going back to the office?"

"This is quite a long list," said Jonas. "It'll take a while to get everything ready."

"You wanna see Miss Kitty and have a beer while we're waitin', Mr. Dillon?" said Chester.

"Sounds good to me," Matt said.

"I'll come with you and pass the time if you don't mind," Belinda said.

"My goodness," said Chester.

"What is it?" she said.

Chester took off his hat and smiled nervously. "We're goin' to the Long Branch, Miss Belinda," he said. "To the saloon."

"Well, and what of it?" she said. "Your Miss Kitty owns the place, and women work there. I don't imagine she'd throw me out."

"Well . . . no, ma'am," said Chester.

"Ladies . . . don't patronize the saloons, Miss Jordan," said Jonas. "They can get rough. It's no place for a lady."

"I know where I want to be, Mr. Jonas."

"Oh, yes ma'am. Surely. I'll start fillin' your order, Marshal."

Belinda took Matt's arm. "You don't mind, do you, Matt?"

"I don't tell you what to do, Miss Belinda," Matt said.

"Good,"she said. "Shall we go?"

Chester looked worriedly at Matt, who shrugged.

Kitty sat figuring calculations on an inventory sheet when Matt entered the Long Branch with Belinda on his arm, followed by Chester. Kitty had met Belinda at the marshal's office, dined at Delmonico's with her and her father and Matt, Chester and Doc, and seen her visiting Matt in his room at Ma Smalley's.

"Hello, Kitty," said Matt.

"Matt," said Kitty. "Hello, Belinda."

"Hello, Kitty," said Belinda. Kitty when on with her figuring.

Chester could tell Miss Kitty was mad by her mouth set in a tight line, and decided to go for his drink straightaway. "You have a dime, Mr. Dillon?" he said sheepishly. "I spent all my pay."

"Sure," said Matt.

Chester ordered his beer and leaned back against the bar, watching Kitty's table.

"Mind if we sit down?" said Matt.

"If you came for a drink, the bar's over there," said Kitty.

"It's hot and I'm thirsty," said Matt, "but I came to see you."

"Three chairs at this table," said Kitty. "No one's stoppin' you from sitting."

Matt pulled out a chair for Belinda.

"You sit, Matt," said Belinda. "I'll buy us all a beer." A slight widening of her eyes the only indication of her surprise that Belinda would drink beer, Kitty glanced briefly at the other woman.

"You drink beer?" said Matt.

"Yes," said Belinda. Why not?"

"A lot of ladies don't like it," Matt said.

"This lady does," said Belinda. "I'll be right back." She patted Matt's shoulders and moved to the bar.

"I was hopin' you'd talk to me some," Matt said to Kitty. "You can't talk to me and figure at the same time."

"Then I won't talk to you."

"What're you mad about?" said Matt.

Kitty put down her pencil and sighed. "Matt, don't tell me you haven't noticed that woman is besotted with you."

"You mean Belinda?"

"You know I do."

"She's a good woman, but I have no interest in making her my woman."

"Then why don't you tell her that?"

"Because she hasn't made any overtures to me beyond friendship," said Matt. "I'm not gonna embarrass her or hurt her feelings on account of your jealousy."

"You like her company so much, why're you settin' here with me," Kitty said sharply.

Over at the bar, Sam set three beers down in front of Belinda. "Thank you, Sam," she said.

"You're welcome, ma'am."

"Let me carry one of those for you, Miss Belinda," said Chester.

"I don't mind her company, but I don't like it particularly either," Matt said to Kitty. "I want to be with you, Kitty."

"Matt, when you want to be with a woman, you spend time with her. You hardly visit me at all since you put that badge back on. You're always with Belinda."

Belinda and Chester arrived at the table. "Is there a problem, Kitty," said Belinda, "me keeping company with Matt?" Chester pulled out a chair for her. "Sit down, Chester," said Belinda.

"Well, I . . . ." said Chester. He looked at Kitty's narrowed eyes.

"Mercy," said Belinda, "I have pupils more sure of themselves than you." Chester's face flushed.

"I feel sorry for your pupils," Kitty snapped at Belinda. "Let him go back to the bar if he wants to."

"I'd rather . . . much," said Chester. He moved back to the bar.

"I meant no harm," said Belinda. "I don't think I said it unkindly."

"It was unkind to say it at all," said Kitty.

"Kitty, I know you despise me for spending so much time with Matt," Belinda said. "He needs friends right now. To help him through the amnesia."

"You haven't helped him any," said Kitty. "His memory hasn't come back at all."

"I remember how to do my job," said Matt.

"That had nothing to do with Belinda," Kitty said.

"It had nothing to do with you, either," said Belinda.

Kitty picked up her inventory sheet and pencil. "I'll have my beer with Chester," she said. She stood up, leaving the beer Belinda bought her on the table. "You can have that beer too if you want it," Kitty said.

Matt watched her walk to the bar. His supply order would be ready at Jonas' store, and he wanted to make things right with Kitty. "Belinda, can I have Chester walk you back to Dodge House?" he said. "I need to talk to Kitty."

"Oh Matt," said Belinda, "I don't think Chester will escort me anywhere after what I said. I'm too outspoken. I meant no harm, really."

"I know you didn't," said Matt. "Don't worry, he won't hold it against you.

"Chester," Matt called. "Come over here, will ya?

"Will you walk Miss Belinda to Dodge House, and pick up our supplies at Jonas's?" Matt said. "I want to talk to Kitty."

Chester tugged his hat brim and looked expectantly at Belinda. She stood and took his arm. "Please forgive me," she said. 'What I said was horrid."

"Oh . . . there's nothin' to forgive," said Chester. "No need makin' me apologies."

"You're a gentleman," she said. Chester didn't know what to say to that, which was alright as it made the shame from what she said before fade away on the air.

Matt stood close to Kitty and rested his elbows on the bar, his arm touching hers. He'd drained his first beer while the women quarreled over him. While he knew which one he wanted, Kitty was striking and Belinda had finely cast features, both were smart, and though their bickering troubled him somewhat, he hadn't minded watching them at it.

A beer came sliding fast over the bar toward him. Matt caught the mug as the foamy cold beer splashed on his hand. He looked at Sam.

"What's that remind you of?" said Sam.

Kitty smiled slightly. "Why should sliding a beer at Matt remind him of anything, Sam?"

"Times I've done it when he had a fight," Sam said. "Sometimes took on a few men at once."

"I don't remember," said Matt, "but I know I can fight two at once if I need to."

"No man's ever bested you here," said Sam. "Think on it. Maybe the memories will come to you."

"I'll do that," said Matt.

Kitty grew warmer and her senses heightened, as always happened when she was close to Matt. Her anger at him slipped away.

"Being a lawman," Matt said, "I know deep inside I have to do it.

"And I love you, Kitty. I'll never want another woman."

She touched her hand to his face and turned his head so she could look into his eyes. "You never said that to me before," she said. Her eyes shimmered.

Matt wiped her teardrop with his thumb and gently kissed her. "But I won't marry you," he said. "Not until the time comes to turn in the badge.

"You'll marry someone else," he said, "and I won't try to hold you back. That's not fair to you."

"Who'd I marry in Dodge?" said Kitty.

"Nate Jordan's a widower," said Matt.

"He's handsome," said Kitty. "He looks young, but he's too old for me. And he's too aristocratic to take an interest in me."

"Doc's not young, either," said Matt.

"Doc doesn't think of me that way," said Kitty. "Doc and I are friends."

"Well," said Matt, "You own this place, so you don't need a man with money. I see you care for Chester."

Kitty laughed. _"Matt,"_ she said. "You're so peculiar since that accident. It's like you don't know us at all. I have no intention of keeping company with Chester."

"You already keep company with him. You two pass the time a lot."

"I love him," said Kitty. "I'm not in love _with_ him.

"Stop being self-sacrificial, Matt. I'm in love with you. Will I ever want another man? I don't know. Depends who comes along, if anybody. I'm not sayin' I don't look at other men, 'cause I do, if the lookin's good enough."

"Guess I have no right to expect more than that from you," Matt said.

"You folks have me at a disadvantage, all of you here in Dodge," he went on. "I only remember meeting you all when I woke up from the coma. I don't know you folks.

"Chester's the only one of you looked familiar to me right off."

"You two are close friends," said Kitty. "You saved his life and he saved yours, both of you more than once."

"I wish I could remember," said Matt. "Chester told me some of what we went through, but they're just stories to me. Powerful strong feeling, saving a man's life. If I could catch hold of that memory, everything else might come back."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Delmonicos patrons fell ill that summer. Doc traced the cause to geese that had hung too long in the meat shed. Symptoms were vomiting, diarrhea, headache and fever. Nate Jordan and Matt both fell sick. Belinda said she never ate goose as it was too rich for her, and Kitty said she disliked the taste. Doc had ordered the goose, but the taste was off, so he spit the bite into his napkin and escaped the food poisoning. Chester had ordered the goose and eaten less than half his portion as it nauseated him. He told Doc he'd left Delmonico's on a run for the outhouse.

Chester said he was some sick, but not bed-rid; he could run the office and take care of Matt. Chester and Doc settled Matt in Chester's bed, and Chester opened the jail cell and turned Loco Jeb Mason loose. Chester would sleep in the jail while Matt was sick, and he wanted Loco Jeb out of the way.

"Jest don't go on a drunk and shoot up the town no more," Chester admonished, then he gagged and heaved up a viscous green spot onto the jail floor.

"Dadburnit, Chester," Jeb grumped, "I'd a took heed without you spittin' to seal it. My belly's turned off breakfast now."

"Git on home, Jeb," said Chester. "Don't talk of food or I'll heave up more green on your boots."

Jeb quickly left the jail area, then paused beside Matt lying in Chester's bed. Jeb pressed his palms together prayerfully and bowed his head a second, then touched his hand to Matt's head before leaving the office.

Kitty spent most of her time at the marshal's office, helping Chester tend to Matt, and Belinda didn't visit Matt as she was nursing her father at Dodge House.

The sickness somehow began gradually solidifying Matt's memories and pushing them to the surface of his awareness. In his more lucid moments, he wondered if the fever burning his head or the drumbeat inside it jarred the memories, making them rise in a turbulent wave to the surface.

He first remembered as close friends the strangers who'd acted so friendly to him when he awakened from the coma. At one point Matt opened his eyes to see Doc's kind, careworn, mildly irascible face hovering over him, and Matt abruptly knew Doc had taken care of him like this in times before. Matt cupped his big hot hand around Doc's head and grinned through blistered lips. "It sure is good to see you, Doc," Matt croaked, his tongue thick and his teeth furry. "I won't forget you again."

Doc frowned, then blinked rapidly and ran a hand over his face. "That's . . . that's good, Matt," he said hoarsely, and cleared his throat.

Memories of Kitty came more slowly to Matt. He knew once after she cleaned his face, kissed his forehead and looked into his eyes with a determined gleam in her own that they'd loved each other a long time, and the love had grown easy and comfortable.

Kitty knew then that he was the Matt from before the accident, though with a vague confusion still visible in his eyes. "You're coming back to us," she said. She scrubbed a cold cloth lightly foamed with soap over his head. "We're gonna bring you through this, even if I don't sleep a wink until we do."

The memories of Chester came fast and clear, as though through a bright prism. Chester held Matt's head and gave him warm tea boiled with ginger and a touch of honey. "It helps the misery in your belly," Chester said. "I been drinkin' it. Can't stomach much of anythin' right now 'ceptin' this tea and Ma Smalley's wine."

Ma's medicinal wine was black, strong, and as bitter as any Matt had tasted. He thought lamp oil would taste that way if he ever touched his tongue to it.

"You're sick too, aren't ya," Matt said.

Chester gave him another swallow of tea. "Not much," Chester said. "I'm takin' Doc's stomach powders mixed in the wine. It fizzles and boils up and makes you belch up a storm. Lost count of the times I haveta run out back. It's healin' me up though. You too."

"I should quit takin' it," said Matt. "It's makin' you too much trouble, and it's durn embarrassing. I wish I could take care of myself."

"Now don't you fret, Mr. Dillon," said Chester. "No shame in bein' sick. Don't worry a mite about me; I'll be right as rain in a short spell."

"I'm remembering about you now," said Matt. "No one could be a better friend than you."

"Oh . . . well," Chester said. "I done nothing you wouldn't do for me."

The memories flowed steadily into Matt's mind as he healed, but they were like jumbled puzzle pieces he had to connect in order to understand the narrative of his past. Doc said he would send the letter to Washington certifying Matt mentally capable of "assuming active duty without oversight" once Matt's memory pieces came together. Nate Jordan could go home to Virginia with his daughter Belinda then and enjoy his retirement.

Matt was sitting in bed reading the Dodge Times when Chester, carrying a box, walked into the office with Belinda. Matt wished he felt strong enough to dress proper instead of wearing the clean ironed nightshirt Kitty had helped him into that morning. He was at least clean and shaved and his hair brushed.

 _"Matt."_ Belinda took off a linen glove and held out her hand to him. "I'm so glad you're better."

Matt took her hand. "Hello, Belinda. I'm mending, thanks. How's Nate?"

"He's come out of the delirium but can't sit up yet. Poor Papa's weak as a new-born kitten. His age, you know."

A slight frown creased Belinda's brows as she looked at Matt. "You look very different from when I saw you last," she said. "More mature and decided."

"He's back to who he was afore the accident," said Chester. "Jest the remembrance pieces need to fit together. That's what this is for." He smiled and put the box on the small table Kitty had brought from her room to set beside the bed. "Open it, Mr. Dillon."

A mathematically accurate, perfectly detailed yet rather soulless picture of Dodge was painted on the box's polished hickory cover. "It's a dandy box too," said Chester. "You can store your coins and things in there."

"What's in it?" said Matt.

"Open it, Matt," said Belinda, smiling.

Matt lifted the cover. Inside were several small ash wood puzzle pieces, each painted with a different part of a Dodge scene. Matt picked out a handful and fingered through them. Chester bounced on his toes and let out hiccupping laughter, which made Belinda laugh.

"It's a puzzle, Mr. Dillon," said Chester. "To help you remember."

"Well, I don't know how much I'll remember from this, but it'll sure help pass the time," said Matt. "It's a fine gift."

"It's from Miss Belinda really," said Chester. "I jest got the idea from you and Doc doin' doctorin' conversating 'bout your memory."

"We both decided on it," said Belinda.

"It was at Jonas' store," said Chester. "Sam ordered it for his uncle, only his uncle passed on last Tuesday, so Sam didn't want it."

"You and Miss Belinda made friends, I see," Matt said to Chester when Belinda left. "Seemed like you two had a rocky start after first meetin'."

"Well, Mr. Dillon, sometimes it takes startin' off on the wrong foot to get to the right foot," said Chester. "She's a fine, smart book-learned lady, not pretty as Miss Kitty but pleasin'. Miss Belinda has hair like a wheat field ripplin' under the sun, and eyes like blossomed-out violets." Chester sat beside Matt on the bed, sifting through the puzzle pieces spread out on a folding hickory board that had come in the bottom of the box.

Matt grinned at his friend. "You wax mighty poetic for a man who's only friends with the lady," he said.

"I'd like to be more than friends, Mr. Dillon, but I'm afeared it's not to be. She has her schoolteachin' in Virginia, and I can't provide proper for a wife. I'm not ready to root down beside," Chester said. "Gonna take me a faraway journey West afore too long."

Matt regarded him seriously. "It's like I'm just seeing you again after a long spell apart, Chester," he said. "You . . .got an idea when you'll be movin' on?"

Chester put a puzzle piece down and looked at Matt. "Can't say as when I'll be leavin' exactly," he said. "I'll stay as long as you need me, Mr. Dillon. I don't mind."

Matt's strength returned quickly, and as summer reached its peak, his body fully recovered. His memories however were as slow coming together as the puzzle he and Chester labored over.

Marshal Jordan returned to the office three or four hours afternoons, handling walk-in reports when Matt and Chester were out. Nate looked older and thinner after the food poisoning, and walked with a cane. Doc said dehydration from the illness had affected Nate's organs, causing pain in his back.

Farmers and ranchers outlying Dodge were relaying incidents of bank robbers in the area. There were more drunken revelries, fistfights, banditry and gunplay than usual that summer. When Matt suffered a mild relapse of the illness, Doc ordered him to take it easy. Matt doubled over from stomach cramps one night as he was heading out for his nightly patrol.

Both jail cells were full; the men inside were bickering at Chester. "Chester, look," said one of the prisoners. He was a cowpoke whom Matt had locked up for shooting his gun into the floor over cards at the Lady Gay. "Marshal Dillon's sick again."

Chester hurried to Matt and helped him to the bed. "I have to do my rounds," said Matt. "Nate can't do it."

"I'll do the rounds," said Chester. "You rest. Got some of Ma's wine left to shake the stomach powders in." Chester put a hand on Matt's shoulder and gave him the bottle. "Wrap your mouth around that, Mr. Dillon. It'll set you straight in no time."

Matt upended the bottle, gulped and screwed up his face. "Tastes like gunpowder," he said.

"Feelin' a bit a belly burblin' myself," said Chester. He took the bottle and chugged, then coughed and wheezed, his eyes watering.

"You see anything going on," said Matt, "don't try to stop it. Just come back and let me know. And don't take a gun. It invites trouble."

Chester thought of saying that his hand and head were steady as any deputy marshal's with a gun, and that he could handle lawbreakers and take care of himself too, but as Mr. Dillon was feeling poorly, Chester only said, "Yessir," left the bottle on the table by the bed, and went out into the hot night.

Matt lay on the bed and dozed with his boots on, fully awakening when he heard the office door open and the thump of Marshal Jordan's cane on the floorboards. "Nate," Matt said. "You're up kinda late, aren't you?"

"I had to come, Matt. Doc paid a late visit to my room. Said he's been busy all day and wanted to check me out before he went to his office to bed. Doc said he saw Chester out doing the rounds by himself and told him to be careful. I didn't worry much at first, Matt. Chester's a good hand with a shotgun even though he lacks the forcefulness a deputy needs. He's not much of a fighter either, is he? The limp, you know."

"That's why he doesn't carry a gun," Matt said. "He's a slow draw with a six-shooter. I told him not to," said Matt.

"That's what worries me," Nate said. "Doc said Chester didn't have a gun on him. On more peaceful nights I'd figure he'd do alright, but it's been rowdy, Matt. Folks came in the office here this afternoon telling of a couple fellows scouting round town asking questions about the businesses here, the bank hours and all."

"Nate, I would've done the rounds but I was hit with stomach cramps before I got out the door," Matt said defensively. "Chester has orders to report anything he sees back to me and not interfere."

"How do you feel now?" said Nate.

"Much better," Matt said. "The pain's gone. If you want me to go after Chester, I'm ahead of you on that," he said, strapping on his gunbelt.

"I'll keep watch here until you get back," said Nate.

Dodge was quieting down in the earliest morning hours as Chester walked the rounds. He noticed lamplight glowing from the back room of the bank as he headed back in the direction of the marshal's office after coming to the end of Front Street. From there Mr. Dillon's customary patrol route led the length of one side of each street in town, then back again on the other side of the street. Chester stopped in front of the bank. The door was open and the window broken out. He decided not to go in, but report at once to the marshal without completing the rounds.

As Chester was about to turn toward the office, a man holding a gun ran from the back room to the front of the bank. A second man ran on his heels, holding a bulging sack in one hand and his gun in the other. The first man skidded to a stop outside the doorway when he saw Chester, who backed off the walk into the street.

Matt saw them from across the street, and as the man leveled his gun at Chester, a sharply defined image surged into the marshal's mind like the flame from a cannon's mouth. Matt saw himself standing in the marshal's office with his back to the jail cells, facing a man pointing a gun at him and demanding that he move out of the way.

 _"No,"_ Matt heard his image say.

He heard Chester's voice shout from the jail cell behind him, _"Dunk, Mr. Dillon! Dunk!"_ Matt dunked, heard the deafening crack as Chester pulled the shotgun trigger and the man collapsed to the floor.

Matt saw now the man across the street raise his gun higher aimed at Chester, and all the marshal's past memories crashed as a unified whole to the front of his mind. Matt drew his gun and fired at the heart of the dark silhouette in the bank doorway. The man's body jolted, then fell forward in the dust. The second man ran into the back room.

Matt ran across the street as Chester, his eyes wide and reflecting the light from the streetlamps, whirled to face him. "Move out of the way," Matt said as his passed his partner and threw himself against the front wall of the bank building by the door. Chester moved back into the shadows.

Matt peered around the doorjamb, then stepped over the first man's body into the bank. The second man stepped from the back to the front room, saw Matt and raised his gun. Matt shot him in the chest and the man went down. The marshal turned him over and waved his hand close over the blank open eyes. The eyelids didn't stir. Matt moved to the first man and rolled him onto his back. The eyes were closed, and Matt remembered a way to know for sure that Doc had recently shown him. He pressed two fingers to a spot on the man's neck and felt nothing, not even a faint thrumming beneath the skin.

Chester walked up to him. "They dead, Mr. Dillon?" he asked.

"Yeah." The marshal stood up. "You alright?" Matt said. Chester nodded.

"You steady to go wake up the undertaker while I wake up the banker?"

"Yessir," said Chester. "I am."

Doc sent a telegram to the U.S. Marshal's Service headquarters, followed by an official letter stating that Matt had recovered from amnesia and was sound in mind to resume his full range of duties without supervision.

Nate Jordan and his daughter Belinda departed Dodge for their home in Virginia. They stopped by the marshal's office to say goodbye, and Belinda hugged Matt and kissed Chester's cheek. "I don't think I'll forget you," Chester," she said. "I don't see as I can help but remember you."

"I won't forget you either, Miss Belinda," he said.

"I want you to go to the telegraph office, Chester," said Matt, when Nate and Belinda left. "I need to send a long overdue wire to Oklahoma Territory. There're some cattle rustlers out that way need catchin'. Then I'm goin' to the livery to pass the time with Moss and see how Big Lady's leg is mending." Matt handed his partner the paper for the telegrapher. "I don't know when we'll get to work more on that puzzle," he said, smiling at his friend.

"We already put it together," Chester said.


End file.
